


Fashion Sense

by spikewriter



Series: A Symphony of Ten [19]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:56:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2802035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikewriter/pseuds/spikewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And you're still wearing the same suit."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fashion Sense

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Day Nineteen of my 2009 Advent Calendar on LiveJournal, and edited for posting here.

"Haven't you even _considered_ jeans? Always the same suit, never any change."

"I have a blue one," the Doctor replied as he and Donna made their way through the market place. They'd been window shopping for a while now -- though why Donna wanted to look at even more clothes was beyond him. The TARDIS might be bigger on the inside, but even it had limits.

"It's still a suit. You never mix it up."

He opened his mouth to argue that he did mix it up. For instance, it'd been some time since he'd worn this tie with this shirt. Then he considered exactly how Donna would respond to that suggestion and closed his mouth again. Not that Donna seemed to notice as she peered into a store window. "What's disgusting is that you're skinny enough to wear jeans properly. Might even be an improvement."

"It's not like I haven't worn them before, Donna. Just...not recently." He didn't want to have the regeneration conversation at this moment; though he was likely going to have to say something soon based on the way she'd been casting sideway glances at the hand. Of course, the regeneration conversation seemed much more appealing when Donna grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the shop.

He wasn't allowed a say in the matter, Donna issuing the sales clerk firm instructions as to what type of jeans she wanted him to try on. He wasn't even allowed to suggest what size might fit best, the clerk whipping out a tape measure and wrapping it about his hips with a bit too much glee. The two women consulted, three pairs selected, and the Doctor ushered into a fitting room. "And don't think you can come come up with an excuse to get out of showing me how they look," Donna called after him.

Inside the fitting room -- which, if anything, seemed smaller on the inside -- the Doctor resigned himself to his fate and discarded coat, jacket, trainers and trousers. At least Donna hadn't forced him into trying on a different shirt, though that was likely on the agenda once she was done with the jeans. He could have simply told her he had an ample supply in the TARDIS wardrobe, but then she would have insisted he try those on and he never enjoyed donning the clothes his former selves had worn. They never felt quite right, as if they didn't fit this skin.

Remembering that Donna was perfectly capable of coming in after him if he lingered too long, the Doctor shimmied into the first set of jeans. The effect wasn't too bad, if he said so himself. Fit very nicely and the cut was on the slim side, which he preferred. Not quite as comfortable as the suit pants, but if Donna was going to insist he buy them he might even wear them occasionally -- if he needed to change some of the fluids on the TARDIS.

As instructed he stepped out to receive the verdict. Donna frowned as he turned to give her the full effect. "What about the other two?" she asked.

The other two didn't impress her any better, nor did the third, the seventh -- and he drew the line when they hit ten and she suggested khakis. "Donna, I happen to be very fond of my suits. I don't see why I have to change just because you think I should wear something more than blue or brown."

"You need more than one of each. You have to clean them at some point."

"Oh, the TARDIS takes care of that."

Donna crossed her arms. "You mean I _don't_ have to do my own laundry? And you couldn't have told me this before I spent about, oh, four hours getting that alien goop off my grey top?"

As he escaped to the dressing room to change back into his suit, the Doctor reflected that for all his jokes about her luggage, maybe he should just turn Donna loose in the TARDIS' wardrobe. If he was lucky, she'd get lost for a week.


End file.
